After Everything?
by sparkleandfizz
Summary: AU after the beginning of season 5. Spoilers thru 5x04. When Sansa arrives in Winterfell to marry Ramsay Bolton, the last thing she expects to find is a miserable, crippled servant named Reek wearing the face of the man she once loved.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Updated: I don't like long author's notes so this is the tldr version of the last one: this story begins after Sansa's arrival at Winterfell in season 5 and continues from there. ****I hope you enjoy my first foray into the world of fanfiction! Please review and critique :)**

**A/N: Updated. Again: Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed, it means a lot to me! One reviewer questioned why Sansa would remember Theon so fondly after his betrayal of her family, which made me realise I forgot to mention a rather important point: In this AU Sansa doesn't know about Theon's betrayal yet, but fear not! This _slight _complication in their relationship will not be ignored and is going to be an important point in coming chapters. I hope this clears up any confusion about her attitude towards him at the beginning of this story. **

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the thing. _**

Chapter 1: Back at the Start

Maybe it was the presence of the Boltons, but the home of Sansa's childhood seemed dark and dead. The harsh wind bit at exposed skin. The light pink of the few blossoms that still clung to the brittle branches of the trees looked ashen and faded, like the cheek of a starving man, and the dark clouds circled like monstrous vultures.

This new Winterfell would be Sansa's home again once she was married to Ramsay Bolton. The mere thought made her stomach clench and brought a vile taste rushing to her mouth. As lightly as she had spoken about "being a married woman" to Littlefinger, she knew that being wed to Ramsay Bolton might as well be a death sentence. She knew what he was capable of, everyone in the North knew about "The Bastard of the Boltons" and the depravities he committed.

Things had been better since she had escaped King's Landing and Joffrey had died. That thought brought a sick smile to her face. Joffrey's death was the only flicker of light in the interminable darkness. Yes, things had been better, but not much. At the Eyrie she had exchanged the brutality and politics of Joffrey's court for the tainted sweetness of Littlefinger's "friendship". She submitted to his desires, let him kiss her and touch her while whispering her mother's name because it kept her safe. In King's Landing she had learned that this world was not about gallant knights and fair maidens and true love, it was about survival.

Eyes hardened and her mouth set in a firm, thin line, she ran one hand along the rough, wooden railing as she looked out over the courtyard where she used to watch Robb, Jon, and Theon practice swordplay and archery. And Arya would sulk in the shadows unless the boys allowed her to join in.

Now, Robb was dead. _Walder Frey will pay for what he did, _Sansa said to herself once again. She repeated that thought like a prayer whenever she thought of her mother, her brother, and the sister she never met.

She had not heard from Jon since he'd been sent to the Wall. For years at Winterfell she had taken up her mother's cold treatment of her half-brother, and now he might be the only family she had left. What she wouldn't give to see him and be able to make up for all those years of resentment? She vowed that if she ever saw Jon Snow again she would treat him like her brother and her friend, like Arya had always done.

And Arya? She hadn't heard of any of her younger siblings since Arya disappeared from King's Landing. Cersei and the Crown had only given her news from the North on a need-to-know basis, and there wasn't much they felt the dumb Stark girl needed to know.

Finally, her thoughts turned to Theon, as they did more often than she would like to admit. Part of her felt guilty that she dwelt more on the Ironborn than any of her own siblings, but she couldn't help it. Unbidden, his stormy blue eyes and confident smirk would appear in her mind and her tender heart would flinch despite its carefully built walls.

They had had a close friendship, something both her parents had frowned upon. Theon was Ned's ward and to be raised as one of their own, but no-one was ever allowed to forget why he was really there. Never mind that he had just been a boy when he was taken from his father, he was a Greyjoy and that was enough.

Still they had been friends, Sansa's only small act of defiance towards her parents. Friends and maybe more. Sansa had thought, or hoped, at times that he might have had feelings for her. Just a few hints: small moments, silent glances, and one stolen kiss unlike anything she had endured from Joffrey or Petyr. Even the thought of it now warmed her in the bitter cold that signaled the coming winter.

Alone in the Godswood, he had taken her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. It had been heated and tender at the same time, and afterwards what a look he had given her. As she felt her cheeks flushing and her eyes sparkling and her lips about to brim over with words describing everything she felt for him, he had looked at her with such a burning, desperate longing. And then he had run, nearly making her fall over in his haste, as the support for her weak kneed giddiness vanished.

The next day when she went to speak to him, she had found him polishing his saddle with a vengeance of pent-up anger. She could recall every single detail as clear as though she was reliving the moment, which she had a hundred times. She softly called his name as she approached, reaching out to touch him.

"Don't," he said in a hard tone. Her hand stopped mid-air and without looking up he said in cold, measured words, "It is wrong for a man to pursue what he can never have." He threw down his rag and without so much as a glance at her fallen face, he marched out of the stable leaving her hurt and confused.

Then he had started his mission to sleep with every whore and serving maid in the surrounding villages and Sansa had forgotten about her crushed heart to focus on the exciting proposition of a proposal from the Crown Prince.

But Sansa always wondered, _what if she had done something different? Been more persistent? Or at least told him her feelings?_

And where was her Prince now? Had he returned to his family and the Iron Isles? Was he standing at the helm of one of the Greyjoys' ships, the wind running through his soft, brown curls? She prayed to the Seven almost nightly that he was, and for good measure whispered a prayer to his Drowned God as well.

She had no right to think of Theon as her Prince, she reminded herself. She might not know what had become of him, but she knew exactly where _her _Lord was she thought bitterly as the hated form of Ramsay Bolton began to climb the steps towards where she was standing.

"Lost in thought, my lady?" Sansa put on her prettiest mask as she turned from the railing to take his arm.

"Just thinking how glad I am that I shall be wed in Winterfell and to a man of the North and not shipped off to somewhere far away." It was partially true, once upon a time she had entertained fantasies of fair, Southern knights embodied by Joffrey and Loras, but those dreams had been poisoned long ago.

"Funny, don't most maidens dream of being swept up by a prince and carried off to Dorne or some such place?"

"I am not most maidens, my lord." Ramsay eyed her hungrily and he gripped her hand too tightly in a way that made her heart race with fear. All she wanted to do was run away from him and not stop until she reached the coast or the Wall, but the grin that spread across his face told her that at least for now she was winning. He was smitten with her, and while that lasted he would not harm her.

"You most certainly are not."

Sansa walked in silence, painfully aware of Ramsay's glaze raking across her carefully composed face. But as the pair moved along the upper level, neither noticed Ramsay's dirty, broken servant watching them intently with dull eyes that had once been as clear and fierce as the waves in Ironman's Bay.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: What's in a Name?

Reek moved slowly around long dining table, dragging his twisted leg over the cold, hard floor. He stopped at Ramsay's place to refill his wine from the large jug he was carrying.

"What are we going to do about _that?_" said Roose Bolton suddenly, jabbing his fork at Reek.

"What do you mean? You said I could keep him." Ramsay responded through a mouthful of food. Reek moved away to put the jug back on the side table.

He was used to the Warden and his master speaking as though he was not even there. He was just another ghost wandering the halls of this ancient fortress, unknown and unseen.

He prefered it that way, the only times he was noticed was when the soldiers got drunk and insulted and mocked him, throwing stones at him like a disobedient dog, or when he displeased his master and Ramsay's flaying knife left its sheath. In another life Theon Greyjoy had always been desperate for attention, forever in the shadow of Robb Stark. But Theon Greyjoy had died in the dungeons of the Dreadfort and Reek... well, Reek loved the shadows.

"I did," said Roose slowly, "And he has served us well. But the Stark girl will recognise him, they grew up together, you remember?"

"Yes. But he betrayed her family and killed her brothers. I rather think she'll like what I've done to him. I think it's a vast improvement," Ramsay turned his eyes towards Reek and grinned, "Perhaps I'll give him to my bride as a wedding present…"

"He didn't actually kill her brothers."

"I know that, and you know that. But she doesn't know that."

"Ramsay, I'm serious. This marriage is important and we do not know how Sansa Stark will take to her childhood friend being reduced to… whatever it is you've made him into."

"Well," said Ramsay, sounding almost bored, "What do you want me to do with him?"

The next few moments of silence were unbearable. Reek kept his gaze fixed on the floor in front of him. He had been stripped of everything: his honor, his friends, his family, his name, and his dignity. It would be a cruel joke if he had given it all up just to stay alive, only to have his life taken away with as little ceremony as the rest of it.

"I don't know. Just keep him out of sight for now. There are those who still say that only a Stark should sit on the throne at Winterfell. This is our chance to secure the North once and for all. If your sick plaything ruins that for us, Ramsay, I'll regret the day I ever called you a Bolton." Ramsay stiffened at the only threat that ever worked on him, the threat of disappointing his father.

"You heard my father Reek, go to the kennels and don't leave unless you're called for."

Reek nodded and shuffled quietly out of large, wooden doors, one word echoing in his mind. _Sansa._

Somewhere in the ruins of his crushed soul, he felt a part of himself stirring that he had thought was gone forever. The only other time he had felt this was when he heard of Robb Stark's death. His friend, his_ brother,_ dead. _I should have been with him,_ Reek thought, almost without really knowing why.

But this wasn't grief and guilt, this was excitement._ She's here,_ his mind told him, hoping he would understand the significance. His heart was beating uncomfortably fast, his palms were clammy, and he might have smiled if he could remember how.

He thought of the girl he had seen walking with Ramsay the day before. _Was that Sansa Stark? If so, why hadn't the sight of her produced this same reaction in him? And anyway, who was Sansa Stark to him?_

As though begging him to remember something, convoluted images rushed into his mind's eye. Flaming red hair, soft full lips, piercing blue eyes, and a laugh that he would give the moon and stars to hear.

Hearing voices down the hall, Reek shrunk back against the cold stone. He was glad he was being banished to the kennels. If just her name had this effect on him, how would he have handled meeting her? Surely he would have embarrassed his master, and he was still moving with great pain from his last punishment.

The tall, stately, black-haired girl from the day before appeared around the corner talking in hushed tones with a small, old woman. She didn't look familiar but even at a distance there was something about the way she moved... They were walking towards him.

Reek's legs might as well have been stone. He couldn't move, so he hung his head and prayed they would just pass by him. His heart seemed to be pounding against the walls of his chest as though it wanted to break out and run to her.

He had to do something, he knew from their conversation that his masters did not want him in the presence of Ramsay's bride. He inched away from the wall and, as the pair approached in deep conversation, tried to move by unnoticed.

He was just past them when -

"Reek," He heard the old septa say, "Where are you going?"

Reek did not let himself look up. He could sense _her _just a few feet away. Everything had gone very wrong, Ramsay would be angry with him for his carelessness. He wished he was safely in his cage in the kennels.

"M-Master Ramsay dismissed me so he could speak to his father in private," he answered quietly, his voice shaking a little.

The septa was about to say something when the young lady's eyes snapped up, out of her deep reverie. They widened into two twin pools of sapphire reflecting shock like bright sunlight.

She managed to gasp out in a weak whisper, "Theon?"

The small noise echoed like a thunderclap along the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Huzzah another chapter! Just a warning, in the next few chapters things are going to start getting a bit darker and the rating will definitely be going up.**

**Also, I found a beautiful video by INCBlackbird about the parallels between Sansa and Theon's stories up to this point called **

**Theon &amp; Sansa | The Stupid, The Proud**

**Oh, and in case anyone is interested, I'm picturing Septa Parne as the old woman who tells Sansa "The North remembers" when she arrives at Winterfell. But she probably came to Winterfell with the Boltons, so she recognises Sansa by name but wouldn't have known Theon Greyjoy by sight.**

Chapter 3: Not Alone

Her own eyes didn't believe the word that still vibrated on the edge of her lips. This creature of rags who had shuffled past them like a beaten pup trying to avoid its master's cane, _Theon Greyjoy? That proud prince with enough smug swagger for half the men in Westeros? _But as his eyes came up to meet her's, wild with fear, there was no mistaking that face she had missed so much, gaunt and unshaven as it was.

He stumbled away from her as if pushed by an invisible force. _That's the second time he's run away from you, _Sansa's brain found it inappropriately necessary to remind her. Only this time she didn't feel flustered and giddy, more like she had been put in a dark room and twisted around until she didn't know which way was up. Panic and confusion ran through her body in waves.

Sansa gathered her skirt in one hand, ready to take after him, only to find Septa Parne gripping her arm and vigorously shaking her head.

"No, child, don't. That's Ramsay's personal servant. There's only so much I can do to protect you in this house, you must be careful."

"But that was Theon Greyjoy, my father's ward, my _friend. _Why is he here?" Sansa was shaking. She felt like the fates were playing some sick joke on her. For the first time since she left Winterfell she had had things under control, she had been able to see the pieces and she was finally playing the game. Why now? Why _him? _

"Is he?" The old woman frowned, "Come with me, it's not safe to talk of such things in the open like this."

* * *

Septa Parne had tried every way she knew to tell Sansa that this was a terrible idea. But Sansa could be as stubborn as any of the Starks when she set her mind to it. And her mind was dead set on one thought: she had to see Theon, to talk to him. The Septa wouldn't say much about what she knew, but she said darkly,

"If that boy is a friend of yours Lady Sansa than my heart goes out to both of you. You've suffered too much, anyone can see that." She shook her head gravely, "Yes, and so has he. I hear him screaming some nights when Master Ramsay's been in a particularly foul mood. And that limp of his was no accident, let me tell you." She clucked her tongue as if, instead of talking about Ramsay torturing someone, she was reprimanding a small boy for stealing a chunk of sweet bread. Sansa saw for the first time that this woman was no kindly old grandmother but someone hardened to the horrors of the world. _I suppose there are only so many ways one could survive that many years in the service of the Boltons, _Sansa thought.

She didn't want to consider what Septa Parne had said about Theon. It made her insides squirm and she was forcibly thrown back in her mind to her own abuse in Joffrey's court, how much worse had Theon endured?

_I have to see him _became the one thing fixed in her mind.

So here she was, a guest of the Bolton's hospitality, with no loyal guards or even Lord Baelish to protect her if she was caught, sneaking across the courtyard in the darkest hours of the night with just a small, dim lantern the Septa had given her with a look of _if this goes badly, don't say I didn't warn you._

An odd wave of nostalgia welled up in her as she walked across the dark courtyard, this reminded her of when she and the other Stark children would slip out of bed to play games in the woods at night. Of course, this time if she was caught she had a feeling the consequences would be a lot worse than just a stern warning from her mother.

She slipped inside the kennels, moving slowly now, careful not to wake any of Ramsay's infamously vicious bitches. The dogs were slobbering and snoring but the whimpering coming from cage at the end wasn't an animal at all.

Sansa's heart broke a little more. She moved to cage and set down her lantern before gathering up her skirt to kneel in front of the bars. The man in the cage was curled on the floor, his back facing her.

"Theon?" She called as softly and tenderly as she could.

His upper body snapped up and his head twisted around.

"No, no, no… please go, my name is Reek, I'm not who you're looking for. I just want to be left alone, please." The words came spilling out of his mouth as he crawled backwards to the farthest wall, "My name is Reek…" He almost whined, drawing his knees to his chest.

"Theon," Sansa reached a hand through the bars towards him, "Don't you know who I am?"

He shook his head, eyes wide and fixed unblinkingly on her face.

"I-" He stopped suddenly scared of what he almost revealed. Then in the warmth of her patient silence continued, "I see your face in my dreams sometimes."

The tears that had been threatening Sansa's composure began to fall silently.

Fear seemed to overwhelm Theon again, "I don't want to know who you are. Please go, just leave me alone. If Master Ramsay knew you were here… Please!" His desperate whisper was rising in pitch and volume. Sansa heard the dogs in the other cages starting to stir.

"Alright, I'm leaving, see?" She said, needing to calm him before the hounds woke the household. She stood and picked up her lantern.

When Sansa was a prisoner in King's Landing she had dreamt of her brave Ironborn coming to rescue her and take her far away. Maybe it was _she_ who was meant to be the rescuer. _I'll be back,_ Sansa made a silent vow to the huddled form in the shadows, _you're not alone anymore._

* * *

And Sansa kept her promise. By day she was the perfect bride-to-be: she charmed the cold Roose Bolton, flirted with Ramsay, and planned her wedding with Septa Parne and the ladies of the house.

But under the cover of night, she would sneak out in the same, now ruined, dress she kept hidden from prying eyes, and make her way to the kennels. Theon (she refused to _ever _think of him as Reek) would still scramble away from her if she tried to touch him or even look directly at him. But if she just sat quietly amid the straw and filth, with her back against the bars of his cage, and told stories from their childhood in Winterfell, a time that seemed so bright and distant to her that she almost wondered if it was real, she would hear him move slowly across the floor towards her until she could feel the heat of his body, so near and yet so impossibly far away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes in this one. Was more than a little sleep deprived when I wrote it... **

**Also, imaginary cookies for anyone who catches the very blatant reference to my favorite rom-com in the history of ever. **

Chapter 4: Waking Up

Reek had been kept in the kennels for weeks now. The serving maids would bring him some of the scraps that they fed to the dogs. But he hadn't seen his master. Part of him wanted to tell him about his fiancee's nightly visits. Ramsay would reward him and take Sansa away. But then again, he wanted to keep her secret, _their _secret, and keep seeing her and hearing the stories that stirred memories in him like fragments of a half-remembered dream.

Some nights he would try to disappear into a corner, praying she wouldn't come back, but then other times, if she was late or didn't come at all, he would press himself to the front of the bars, looking around and wondering where she was.

Alone in the dark he felt like he was going mad, with two different halves fighting for control of his mind. One was like a frightened animal, desperate and panicked, clinging to the reality he had now, and the other was almost a stranger, resurfacing from some unknown depths of the past. An old voice waking up in a new world.

But Sansa seemed to draw this voice out into the light, giving it strength. When she was with him, he _wanted_ to remember, he _wanted_ understand what he had lost. But the struggle was so hard. He wished she would abandon him to his existence, and let his mind go back to its numb sleep.

* * *

"I loved you"

Sansa stopped mid-sentence. She didn't move. She didn't even dare breathe. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and with that touch their unspoken rule was broken.

She turned around. The first thing she saw was his hand still frozen uncertainly in mid-air, halfway out of the bars of his cage. The last two fingers were gone, leaving only scarred stumps. She slipped her own hand, smooth and white as polished porcelain, into his and looked up at his face. It was thin and scarred, miserable and beaten, but she hardly noticed a single sorry detail, already captured by his eyes that were watching her, full of sadness and anger and love and _memories._

"You did?"

"Yes, _Sansa Stark, _I did." He bit his lip and gave her a weak smile, "Or don't you remember that time in the Godswood?"

Sansa felt like she might burst. She wanted to throw her arms around him and never let him go again. She settled for pressing her lips to his knuckles and then saying playfully,

"Well, kissing a girl and then running off and not speaking to her for days is hardly the best way to tell her."

Theon groaned and leaned his forehead against a bar. "I'm aware of how much of an idiot I was, thank you." He looked at her again, "But I never did tell you _where _I ran off to, did I?"

"What?"

"Sansa, I'd been in love with you for _years, _and then I realised that just maybe, gods know why, you felt the same way about me. And I wanted to be be able to court you the way you deserved: to kiss you in the open, and hold your hand, and put my cloak on your shoulders. I didn't want to drag you into some sort of sneaking around behind people's backs with the traitor's son. I ran straight to your father, burst in on his council meeting actually," Sansa smiled. Theon moved his hand to her cheek and gently caressed it with the pad of his thumb. "You see, when you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

"What did my father say?" Sansa asked, though she already knew the answer.

"What do you think?" Theon gave a short, bitter laugh, "No way was a_ Greyjoy_ a worthy suitor for his precious daughter. I don't think it was any coincidence that pretty soon after he decided to marry you off to Prince Joffrey."

"Of course... Joffrey." Sansa shuddered.

"You didn't seem to mind at the time." The minute the words were out of his mouth, Theon regretted them. He remembered hearing stories about how twisted the Prince was: Ramsay with a throne and a crown. Who knows what Sansa had been through...

"How was I supposed to feel?" Sansa said defensively, "The man I loved rejected me without telling me why, and was whoring his way through Winter Town. The heir to the throne didn't seem like a bad second best."

"I was just trying to get over you. My only other option would have been to sweep you up and carry you off without your family's consent, which would have meant sacrificing your honor and probably my head. It didn't work though, every willing girl I could find and enough ale to drown a horse and I still wanted to slit that little bastard's throat every time I saw you with him."

"I wish you had."

"It was that bad?"

Sansa bowed her head. Theon pressed himself closer to her and reached his arms through the bars to hold her as best he could. Sansa leaned her cheek against the cold metal, wishing it was his chest.

"It's getting light, you should go…" said Theon reluctantly.

She pulled away from his awkward, though comforting, embrace.

"Sansa," He spoke with sudden urgency, catching her wrist, "You _can't_ marry Ramsay."

"I don't know that I have a choice." Her voice was dead, resigned to the reality she had been trying to escape by visiting Theon every night.

"Please, we'll figure something out. Together. Just, promise me?" He begged.

She knew she couldn't. She knew that as much as she wanted to run away with Theon, the truth was that by this time next week she would most likely be Lady Bolton. But everyone says stupid things when they're in love.

"I promise." Reaching up and twining her hand in his dull, limp hair, she brought his face down to meet her's between the bars where there was just enough space to kiss him tenderly.

Theon tilted his head to deepen the kiss and brought his arm around her waist drawing her to him, and accidentally pressing her rather painfully into the hard iron separating them. But Sansa didn't care, kneeling here on the floor in the dank, dark stench of the kennels with her chest being squished against metal bars, this was one of the most perfect moments in her life. Because it was Theon, because he had fought his way back to her, and because for just this instant, they were together.

"I always thought the Lannisters were the most disgusting family when it came to their choice of mates. I didn't realise the Stark girls liked to lie with dogs."

Theon and Sansa jerked apart, untangling themselves from each other and the barrier between them.

Ramsay Bolton stood in the entrance. Behind him, two of his men were holding a young girl, bound and gagged.

"And to think I was going to let you come on a little early morning hunt with us, Reek. I must say I'm _very _disappointed in you." Ramsay approached the couple slowly, shaking his head.

Sansa was frozen, her heart pounding. She knew there was nowhere to run. Theon shrank back from the approaching shadow. He could feel the urge to plead for forgiveness, to swear his loyalty and love for Ramsay and grovel at his feet rising in his chest. Sansa may have rescued his mind, but old habits die hard.

"Though I suppose it takes two…" Ramsay grabbed Sansa and pulled her to her feet, slamming her back into the metal, "Doesn't it, _Lady _Sansa?" His face was so close she could feel the spray of spittle on her cheek.

Keeping a vice-like grip on her arm, Ramsay turned to his men,

"I guess we're going to have to cancel our fun, boys. It seems my intended needs to be reminded exactly who she belongs to."

* * *

**The rating will be increased to M when the next chapter comes out, in case you didn't already realise. **

**Thank you for reading and reviewing. Ramsay and Sansa will see you next time for some good, wholesome family fun! **


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter… heck, this story, has been a battle between wanting to make Ramsay as despicable as possible and my huge crush on Iwan Rheon (I mean seriously: Misfits? Spring Awakening? The man is amazing.) **

**But here it is at last!**

**Warning: this chapter contains descriptions of violence and rape. **

Chapter 5: Never Trust a Greyjoy

Sansa's eyes felt heavy and there was a painful throbbing in her head. She tried to move her hand to brush her hair off her face, only to find her wrists were tied together above her, a thick cord wrapped around part of the headboard and digging into her flesh.

She was lying on a small, bare bed in a small, bare room. Her shoulders ached from the strain on them, her hair was sticking to her lip, and gods, her head!

It was coming back to her now… Theon remembering, Theon saying he loved her, and then her momentary happiness being shattered once again when Ramsay discovered them. She had been careless, she had stayed too long and let the sunrise find her still in the kennels. She had pushed it, wanting to stay a few precious moments more instead of just waiting til the next night. That had been stupid, and dangerous. She could still feel where Ramsay's hand had gripped her jaw and slammed her head backwards against the metal. Everything fading to black as she crumbled to the floor.

_Ramsay. _She jerked her head up and looked around the room. No, he wasn't lurking in any corner of the cell. She let herself relax a little with relief. But then her gut twisted as a thought crawled into the back of her mind, if he wasn't here, where? With Theon?

She lay there, stiff with worry for what seemed like years. She wished that this room had a window so she could tell how much time was actually passing. For that matter, how long had she been unconscious? An hour? A day?

Sansa heard the heavy door open. She didn't need to look to know who it was.

"I have a present for you," he said softly. She closed her eyes wishing she could just dissolve into the bed and get blown away like ashes in the wind. She felt the mattress shift and Ramsay was towering over her, his knees on either side of her waist.

"Look at me!" He shouted. Sansa's cheek stung as Ramsay slapped her, hard. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and hissed into her ear, "I really think you're going to want to see what I brought you."

Sansa opened her eyes. On Ramsay's palm lay a mangled eyeball, blue-grey and dead, staring straight back at her. Sansa felt like she was going to be sick. Ramsay caressed the eye with his knife. He suddenly stabbed the tip of his blade into it. A clear liquid oozed out over his fingers. He studied it for a moment, then with a twist of his wrist he flicked the eye into a far corner.

"Now," he said, gripping Sansa's face, "You're going to behave, or I'll bring you the other one."

_Give him whatever he wants, _she thought, _just don't let him hurt Theon again._

Ramsay pushed his lips against hers. She didn't squirm or fight back, paralyzed by the image of Theon's eye on the end of Ramsay's flaying knife.

Ramsay sat back on his heels, gazing at her, "Good girl, you're learning," He smiled.

"Do you know what I just don't understand, why you would betray me for the man who killed your brothers? Did it taste good, sucking on the lips that ordered their death?" Sansa frowned.

"Oh!" Ramsay glowed with obvious delight, "You don't know…

"Your _beloved _betrayed the King in the North. He took Winterfell with the Ironborn; he burned and strung up those little Stark boys in the courtyard. They were still hanging there when I got here." Sansa couldn't believe this. She wanted to scream and cry and beat Ramsay for lying.

"I guess they tried to escape. Pity that one couldn't walk or they might have made it… What were their names again, Bran and Rickon?"

"No… Theon wouldn't…"

"Oh yes, Theon _did. _Why do you think he ended up here and not dead with Robb Stark at the Twins? But I took him and made him into my own creation, Reek, and after this he won't forget himself again. And neither will you," Ramsay grabbed the fabric of her dress and cut into it, just above her stomach, "You. Are. _Mine. Do you understand?" _Sansa bit her lip. Ramsay cut open the bodice of her dress, ripping it apart to expose her breasts and stomach. He dropped the knife onto the mattress.

"I mean to take what is mine. Can't trust a little slut like you…" Ramsay pulled down his breeches. His cock was already hard, aroused by Theon's screams and Sansa's tears. He gripped himself and pissed on her perky, white tits. Then he sprayed up her neck and onto her mouth. Sansa squirmed and thrashed under him.

"I love a woman who responds to my touch," said Ramsay, his voice now a dangerous growl. He moved down and opened her legs, settling between them. He pushed up her skirt and ran his hands along her thighs.

Sansa tried to escape into her mind like she had so many times back in King's Landing. But all she found there was thoughts of what Ramsay had said about Theon. _It couldn't be true. _Yet she couldn't stop seeing the charred bodies of Bran and sweet, little Rickon swinging from the beams of their home with Theon standing below them, smiling. Her mother's warning echoed in her head, _never trust a Greyjoy. _

Suddenly Ramsay's hand was _there. _He shoved one long finger up inside of her. Sansa bit back a scream.

"Not wet for me, dearheart?" He crooned with sickening sweetness, "Too bad, it will just hurt more for you." His finger was replaced with his cock, and he was pushing himself inside her tight, dry entrance.

This time Sansa couldn't help it, she cried out. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands, drawing a little trickle of blood. One of Ramsay's hands was bruising her hip, holding her in place. The other wrapped around her throat, cutting off the noise. Sansa choked and writhed as Ramsay thrust into her.

When he had finished, he pulled out and wiped his cock on her thigh before pulling up his pants and retying them.

"Perhaps we'll get an early start on that heir father wants." Sansa gritted her teeth. She would drink tansy, she would find some way to stop it and if she couldn't, she would kill herself before bearing Ramsay's child.

"Sansa," Ramsay leaned over her, "Do you understand what you are now?" She closed her red, watery eyes and nodded.

"Say it." He picked up his knife again and the cold blade was pressed against her neck.

She would not give him the satisfaction of hearing her voice shake. She said, slowly and deliberately, "I am yours and you are mine."

Without another word, Ramsay got off the bed and left. Sansa lay there, exhausted, drained, defeated.

* * *

Theon had passed out from the pain as Ramsay gouged out his eye. He woke up still tied to the rack. Ramsay was leaning against the far wall, twirling his knife between his fingers with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Theon couldn't let Ramsay see that it hadn't worked. In his head he was still Theon. He had held on this time. _For Sansa_, he had held on. But he was only too aware that he could be broken again given time. He had to escape the Boltons. More than that, he had to escape Reek.

"Well, I think you've both learned your lesson. Not that I blame _you._ She's pretty in her way. And a good fuck." Ramsay looked up to see Reek's reaction. Nothing. G_ood_. "Are you ready to go back to your cage now?" The man nodded meekly. Ramsay cut the rope tying him up and Reek fell into his arms. Ramsay sheathed his knife and held the limp, disgusting creature, stroking his hair.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to…" Reek mumbled into Ramsay's chest.

"It's alright. I forgive you. You will be good now, won't you my sweet Reek?"

Reek suddenly straightened up. Ramsay felt his knife pulled out of his sheath and plunged forcefully into his gut. Ramsay slumped forward. His head was pulled back so that with his dying breath he could look into the face of the man he had ruined.

"My name is _not _Reek. I am Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon, ward of Winterfell, and Prince of the Iron Isles."

Theon pushed Ramsay's body away from him. Blood came pouring from his wound, pooling on the floor where he fell.

Theon's breath came in short, sharp gasps. He stared at the collapsed body in front of him. His reaction to _that _name had been almost involuntary, and completely unplanned. The reality of what he had just done came tumbling down around him, filling every inch of his vision. He had to find Sansa. They couldn't stay here, not now.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Theon Turncloak

Theon had never been more afraid in his life. The bloody knife hidden in the folds of his clothing glowed white-hot: a beacon for everyone to see. Every gaze that passed his way was a shocked, accusing stare. Every half-heard conversation was discussing the discovery of Ramsay's lifeless corpse.

He had hidden the body as best he could in that room, then closed and locked the door with keys he took from the Bastard. It would be enough to buy them a few hours, he told himself, maybe a day if the fates were on their side. Luckily even Ramsay's most loyal men avoided his dungeon if they knew he was down there "working", as if they were trying to preserve some part of their tattered humanity. Even so every part of Theon's being wanted him to run to find Sansa. He forced himself to shuffle along, eyes downcast. For once he needed to be invisible.

_It does no good to worry now,_ Theon thought. He knew the minute he felt the weight of Ramsay's body collapse against him that he had started down a path where there was no going back. He knew that feeling well. _Just put one foot in front of the other and pray you didn't choose wrong this time. _

It wasn't hard to find her. He hated to admit to himself that he knew Ramsay well enough to figure out where she would be, in a lowest level of the fortress, below the kitchens in a small windowless room where no-one would hear her scream. But when he did see her, he wanted to rip Ramsay's gut open all over again.

Her skirt was pushed up and her top ripped open. She was soiled and sticky and smelled of urine and… other things Theon didn't want to think about. She had drifted into a fitful sleep and she pulled against her binding. Theon gulped down the combination of anger, hate, and bile rising in his throat and savagely cut through the cord holding her prisoner.

He grabbed hold of her wrists, marred with shining, red bands where the cord had rubbed them raw, and gently helped her sit up. As her bleary eyes focused on what was happening Sansa pulled away from him.

"No, it's ok, it's Theon." He said softly, still she glared at him as she quickly and self-consciously grabbed the pieces of her dress to cover herself.

Theon knelt painfully in front of Sansa. He tried to take hold of her hand, but she kept them clutching her garment, white-knuckled. "Listen, Sansa, we have to leave Winterfell as soon as possible. I… well, I killed Ramsay, I couldn't help it. But now I fear we could both be in danger. I don't want to have just found you only to lose you again, we have to go."

"What time is it?" Theon frowned, not only at the odd question but her voice that cut the air like a shard of ice.

"Um… late evening. People are settling down for the night."

"Good," Sansa stood up and wrapped the old bed sheet around her body, hiding the ripped chunks of her dress, "I'll find a way to leave as soon as possible. You don't have to worry about me, I'm good at surviving." She left as though she couldn't get away from him fast enough.

Theon scrambled to his feet and went after her. In the doorway he stopped and watched her retreating form. He silently cursed everything. She was the one reason he thought this might all have been worth something. That if she loved him _he_ might be still worth something. Did she blame him for what had happened to her?

* * *

Littlefinger had once told Sansa that if you ever had to escape the best way was to ride out the open gate with the host's blessing. But Theon's murder of Ramsay Bolton had left little time for sweet-talking Roose into letting her leave for the Vale for some urgent reason or another. Not that a part of her wasn't grateful that the monster was dead, but she wouldn't let herself think about that. She didn't want to be indebted to Theon in any way. The rush of joy she felt seeing him when he set her free had been painful enough.

The worst thing was not knowing if she was being horribly unfair. Ramsay had every reason to lie. Why in the name of the Seven did her heart believe _him_ and not the man she loved? Still, she couldn't afford to take anyone with her she didn't trust. Whatever she did now had to be coldly practical above all else. She had meant what she said to Theon: Sansa Stark was a survivor. She was leaving tonight and she was leaving alone.

She couldn't just charge through the front gates. But fortunately this was Winterfell. She knew these grounds better than the palm of her hand and she knew how to get beyond the walls and into the woods on foot and unnoticed.

She had stolen a pair of breeches and a tunic from the laundry, better traveling clothes than any she had, and exchanged them for the mess of fabric that remained of her dress. The only thing she brought with her was a small, silver dagger with a mockingbird engraved on the handle. She hadn't even said goodbye to Septa Parne. The woman had been more than kind to her but this wasn't the time for taking risks and testing loyalties.

Sansa moved quickly through the shadows of the trees, which stretched across the ground like spindly fingers. Her heart was already pounding in her throat so she nearly made the fatal mistake of screaming when a figure stepped into her path from behind a tree. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

"I thought we were going together." Theon sounded angry and heartbroken at the same time. His one good eye glinted in the darkness. Sansa backed away from him.

The words that had been crouching on the back of her tongue since Ramsay raped her came leaping out of her mouth, "Why would I take you with me? So you can betray me like you betrayed my family?"

A heavy stone dropped into Theon's stomach. _She knows._ This is why she had run from him before. She knows and she had had to hear it from Ramsay. Sansa set her eyes deep into the woods behind him and started to walk past. He grabbed at her and she wrenched her arm away.

"Are you going to stop me from leaving this hell? You said you loved me! Do you have no honor left?"

"I have nothing left." The grief in his voice clutched at Sansa's heart, begging for forgiveness. But Theon stepped back, allowing her to go if she wanted, "Everything has been taken from me because I made the wrong choice. I spent years watching the way you Starks worked together, loving each other and fighting for each other. And I was always an outsider. I just wanted a family who loved me, I just wanted my father to accept me and see me as a true Greyjoy." Theon dared to look at her face, it was a fierce scowl, but she wasn't leaving. "What I did was wrong, I just wish you could understand why I did it... Please understand Sansa."

All she had wanted was for Theon to not know what she was talking about, to say it was all a lie, "It was unforgivable."

"It was. I can't even think about it without feeling sick with regret." His hushed voice was strained, "I know you hate me right now, but trust me no-one hates me more than myself. The only thing I wish for anymore is that I had died at the Twins by Robb's side, an honest man, instead of becoming this" He gestured to himself with disgust.

"You killed Bran and Rickon. You murdered my baby brothers." Theon shuddered and clenched his jaw as though the words physically hurt.

"I didn't! I didn't...please Sansa believe me, I didn't." Nothing brought home how wrong he had been more than the pain and hatred written over Sansa's beautiful face. "What I did wasn't any less cruel, I took two boys from the village and ordered them to be killed and their bodies burned to hide the fact that Bran and Rickon had escaped. My men had just started to respect me, I couldn't appear weak. But if your brothers are dead it was not at my hand."

Sansa couldn't stand hearing this. A part of her wanted to forgive Theon, because he was her weakness. She couldn't have a weakness. "I have to go, don't follow me and if you have any affection left for me at all, don't try to stop me."

"Wait! Sansa, wait. I was wrong before. I have one thing left: my life." He pulled out the knife, still stained with Ramsay's blood, and pressed the handle into her palm.

"It's yours now. I beg you, either take your revenge now, or let me come with you and serve you and protect you until my final breath. I won't ask you for anything else. Just don't leave me alone, I can't do that anymore." Sansa shifted the knife in her delicate hand, never taking her eyes off Theon's desperate face. Suddenly, she grabbed his hair and pulled his head back sharply.

The Ironborn put up no fight. He didn't even make a sound as she pressed the knife against his exposed throat.

"You should have served and protected Robb." She said quietly.

Tears welled at the corner of his haunted blue eye.

"I know."

The moment seemed to last a lifetime. Then Theon felt her hand holding the knife start to tremble and her grip on his hair loosened. Even with her love and belief in him crushed, Sansa couldn't bring herself to hurt him. For a second she remembered how she had convinced herself to accept Joffrey despite every warning sign. _Your soft heart will always be your downfall,_ she told herself bitterly.

She slid the knife into the belt of her own tunic.

"We need to get as far away from here as we can by daybreak."

**Thank you for reading and reviewing. They're finally on their way! But will Sansa ever be able to come to terms with what Theon did? What will Roose Bolton do when he discovers his son has been killed? **


	7. Chapter 7

**I've decided to return to writing this story after a long time away. Life's been busy, good but busy. However, I want to find more time for my own writing. **

**This is a short chapter about Roose Bolton's reaction to Ramsay's death. We'll be back with Sansa and Theon next chapter. Thank you for reading/reviewing! **

Chapter 7: A Father's Love

The bells were ringing in Winterfell.

Metallic screams bounced off the walls and pierced into the marrow of one's bones. Not a soul breathed as two men carried the corpse of Ramsey Snow into the courtyard.

Winterfell was a castle of death. The promise of a long and dark winter had settled into every brick and plank.

And there was only the endless ringing of the bells.

Roose Bolton watched. A grave, solid figure, carved from granite. The last echo of the bells drowned itself in a sea of heavy silence.

"Burn him." Lord Bolton calmly commanded a servant standing nearby. "Do it in the forest beyond the walls." He took one last look at the body. Death had tinged Ramsay's wide, ugly face purple and his hands were folded right where a dark stain blossomed across his tunic. Roose turned on his heels and headed indoors.

Life is for the living; he had always believed that. Take what you can while you still breathe because no one will care about you once you're gone. It would be so for him; why should it be different for his bastard son?

A thud of boots followed his retreat. The imposing shadow of one of his generals engulfed him as Roose paused.

"Ser, should we not do anything else? If I send men after the Stark girl and the Greyjoy, they will be captured in a few days' time. You can take proper revenge and your son can rest in peace."

Roose Bolton turned to face the man behind him. He spoke with the same slow and menacing precision that always colored his words, no matter if he was discussing murder or the chance of rain that afternoon.

"General, you knew Ramsay, you knew his habits. If there are Gods watching over us, do you truly believe he will receive peace and everlasting happiness beyond this world? It does not matter to Ramsey if his murderers are caught." The general frowned. The scar across his brow scrunched into an odd pattern that Roose studied with the intensity of a painter examining his subject. He continued, "Ramsay Snow was not my son. He was my bastard, nothing more. He was useful to me because he was the right age to fuck Sansa Stark, put a son in her, and make the North the Bolton's for the next hundred years."

Roose's gaze shifted over the general's shoulder to the entrance to the courtyard. "His corpse cannot produce an heir. He is no longer of value to me. I will not weep over his corpse like a maid." The general grasped his sword hilt and shifted his weight uncomfortably. He felt as though he had directly accused Lord Bolton of such weakness.

"The Stark girl is still valuable to us because she is the key to the North. But if she's smart she'll head straight for the Vale. I won't lose good Bolton men to Petyr fucking Baelish unless I have to. Not over my bastard son, and definitely not over that twice-traitor, Theon Greyjoy. You saw him by the time he left here: not worth the life of one of the kitchen rats, much less one of my men."

Lord Bolton turned and began to walk again. The general trailed behind him, unsure if he was still being addressed or not.

"No, not for now. I will send word to Lord Baelish and see if he won't ship that Stark bitch back to me the minute she arrives on his doorstep. Perhaps I'll marry her to one of my most loyal lords. She may be useful if she bends the knee and acknowledges the Boltons as the true lords of Winterfell. Perhaps Fat Walda will have an accident. Slip off her horse while out riding and I'll marry the Stark myself…"

They almost reached the Great Hall before the general paused. Roose Bolton slowed his steps, clearly aware that the general had been beside him the whole time.

"Pardon me, ser, if I may?" Roose Bolton stopped completely but did not turn to face him.

"Go on," he closed his eyes, annoyed at the unwelcome conversation. "It is a wise man who may not follow another's council, but a stupid one who will not listen to it."

"Well ser," he cleared his throat. Lord Bolton could make even the most battle-worn men feel like nervous children. "Do you not think that not pursuing someone who killed your s- a member of the Bolton house, no matter how insignificant, might send the wrong message? People might think we are weak? After all, my lord, are your words not 'Our blades are sharp'? What good is that promise if it does not defend even your own kin?"

Those words made Lord Bolton's blood boil. He would not stand accused of cowardice by a man who had betrayed the Starks at the first opportunity. Once again he turned to face down the larger man.

"My friend, I have heard many men talk about the honor and duty of revenge. Many man have met foolish ends because they were trying to avenge the death of some dear departed. Tywin Lannister went to war for his Imp son whom he hated and that son killed him. And yet, here I stand, alive and Lord of Winterfell because I don't let myself be swayed by these passions." Roose drew a deep breath. The air that exited his body seemed colder than that which entered, chilled by whatever lay beating beneath his thick, fur-lined cloak. "You are correct that we should not let these fugitives freely scamper back to the Vale. If a more deserving man than Littlefinger wishes to bring Sansa Stark back to me I would be happy to pay him for her cunt. After all, it seems to be worth its weight in gold." Roose nodded slightly, having made his decision.

"Send word to every nearby town, farm, and castle that I wish see Lady Stark again and will pay handsomely for her return to Winterfell. She is traveling with a cripple whom they may kill if they like, but the girl stays alive."

The general risked a small smile. "Yes ser, I will send Ravens and messengers out within the hour." Lord Bolton nodded again, finally dismissing his loyal servant.

Roose had been playing this game longer than most. He knew that sending out a small party of soldiers to find Sansa wouldn't be half as effective as making her a walking bag of silver and hanging her in front of the nose of every bandit, cutthroat, and desperate man between Winterfell and the Vale. Ramsay had been a reckless, wild, rabid dog, doing more harm than good to the Bolton house with his games. Now Roose could play the board the way it suited him best: quiet and patient but as precise and vicious as a flaying knife.


	8. Chapter 8

**Finally, we return to Sansa and Theon. I hope you enjoy this longer chapter about life on the run! Please read and review! Also, I'm looking for a beta reader for this story since right now you guys are just getting stuff that seems good in my own head. Message me if you're interested! The title is a reference to the lyric "The moments when you're in so deep, it feels easier to just swim down" from It's Quiet Uptown. **

Chapter 8: Easier to Just Swim Down

Cold steel hung heavily on Sansa's belt. The knife that killed Ramsay Bolton. She felt unnatural in a tunic and breeches. The lightness and freedom of the clothing made her feel naked and vulnerable. An owl screeched somewhere in the darkness. Sansa jumped backward. A hand was on the small of her back to steady her. Her hand flew to the knife's hilt.

"Don't touch me," she growled. She started to walk again hesitantly. Her fingers played nervously with carved bone handle. She stepped forward and paused several times. For the first time in her life, she had to make every choice completely alone. Like a puppet whose strings are cut she was free but broken. Her panicked mind raced.

_This is Winterfell. My home. Anyone around here will recognize me in a heartbeat. _When she was traveling before Littlefinger made her dye her hair. It was the most recognizable part of her appearance. She knelt and gathered it over one shoulder, twisting it into a large clump. With one brutal stroke, long strands of Tully red littered the snow like autumn leaves. She had lost her father's home and now her mother's colors. She clenched her jaw to hold back tears. Crying had not stopped Joffrey from beating her, Ramsey from raping her, or Theon from betraying her. Sansa Stark would not cry anymore.

* * *

A vast silence stretched between the two fugitives as dawn filtered through the trees. Sansa's ghosts surrounded her on all sides, reaching out to her like the shadows of the trees across the snow.

Bran and Rickon ran just ahead, out of sight and laughing. Ned, Catelyn, and Robb loomed behind her. Screams of the dying and images of the dead filled her mind. Why was she left alive? She was the weakest Stark. A silly girl who couldn't bring herself to take vengeance when the opportunity was literally handed to her. Instead, he followed her like a beaten dog, pathetic and useless. He would just slow her down. She remembered her gut twisting when Ramsay gleefully toyed with Theon's eyeball. She was almost violently ill as disgust and anger raged silently beneath her skin. But now an unbidden voice bubbled up in the back of her brain, maybe he deserved it. The outside now reflected the ugliness within. She refused to acknowledge that maybe Theon should be Reek. As the first light of day filled the forest, the once-familiar trees looked gray and barren and the snow was dirty slush that chilled the bone.

* * *

_We have to find a way to travel faster, _thought Sansa. The wet leaves soaked her chest and stomach. They were hidden in a gully off the side of the road. Riders were approaching from what Sansa guessed might be Wintertown.

Three days ago they had escaped Winterfell. Slowly Sansa stopped recognizing the trees and the paths. She continued to march, almost at a run. Theon struggled after her but wouldn't let her leave him behind even though she did not once break her stride or let him rest. They traveled in silence and darkness, with only the pale moon for company. They made camps hidden away from the sun in caves or gullies or thickets of twisted bushes far from the road.

Sansa pushed her body up enough to see over the ridge. A strangled whimper escaped Theon's throat but he did not reach out to stop her. A man and a young girl were approaching. They traveled quickly, urged on by the setting sun. The girl's horse was laden with wares from the Wintertown market.

The man slowed his horse to a stop, sighing, "Sorry love, just need a quick break." He jumped off and handed her his reins. He looked to the left, just over Sansa and Theon. Sansa tensed like a wound spring. Instead, he headed off to the right, behind a large tree. Soon she heard the sound of urine hitting the bark. She sprung out and grabbed the girl before Theon could scramble to his feet.

"Don't let go of those reins," Sansa said, pulling her out of her saddle and pressing the blade against her young, freckled throat. The girl bit the hand covering her mouth and let out a piercing cry. The man stumbled out from behind the tree with his breeches half undone.

He stopped dead, his body quivering and his eyes wide, "Please, stop, don't hurt her. You can have anything you want. Take our horses, our supplies, anything."

Sansa looked at him. This unknown face replaced by everyone who had betrayed her family for being too honest, too noble, too kind. She saw herself being ridden down by Bolton soldiers and felt her body being dragged across the Winterfell courtyard and thrown at Roose's feet.

Blood blossomed under the knife and splatted across the snow where the young girl fell. Sansa's hands were shaking. The man charged forward, bellowing. Sansa stumbled backward. She felt the knife ripped from her hand and gravel scrape her back as she was pushed down. The sun blinded her for a moment. Then the man fell beside her, the knife in his chest. Theon pulled her up to sit. He gingerly began to brush the dirt off her, ready to be pushed away at any second. Sansa stared blankly ahead. The Hound had once told her that killing was the sweetest thing there was. She felt empty and hideous.

She stood up and rolled the man over. With an undignified grunt, she pulled the knife from his chest. She looked back at Theon crouching in the snow. Suddenly all the guilt, anger, and hatred she had been carrying from the past few day spilled across her tongue like bitter poison.

"Come on Reek, let's leave." Theon flinched. He stared directly at her for the first time since they left Winterfell. He looked like he'd been slapped and spit on. Sansa's mouth opened again but nothing came out. Looking back at his face and the bodies in the snow, the voice in Sansa's head was pleading for forgiveness. She felt like she was now watching her actions from outside her body. She was a feral animal ready to survive at all costs. The wolf was alive but the woman was dying.

She turned away and mounted the unburdened horse. Another part of her broke as she heard Theon get on the other horse and the slow, steady hoofbeats as he dutifully followed her.

* * *

"Can you tell me why?" Sansa's voice was quiet and raspy. Theon looked up to see her studying him.

Theon stiffened where he knelt, laying out his blanket. He frowned.

"Maybe not. Probably not. I can try." He swallowed nervously and began. "When I was taken to Winterfell after my father's rebellion, I was just a boy, taken from my home by the men who killed my brothers and made my father kneel." His eyes flickered to the ground.

"I was terrified. That fear never really left. I knew why I was kept. I knew that if my father ever tried to raise an army against the mainland again Lord Eddard would cut off the head of his only surviving son. And every person I spent my days with, grew up with, even the ones I considered my friends, every single one of them would willingly stand by and watch my execution."

"But still, I was supposed to be grateful to the Starks." Theon took a deep breath. "Grateful to be the hostage of the men who killed my family. Grateful to be raised with no parents and no siblings. Grateful to be eyed with suspicion, treated with little respect, and called a traitor and worse every day of my life."

He looked at her, imploring, "You are the only person who might understand what I felt: your brother rebelled and the Lannisters murdered the people you loved. They kept you as a prisoner, not in a cell but in their household."

"Do not compare my family to the Lannisters," Sansa said stiffly, glaring at him.

"I'm not trying to… not really, but please Sansa, don't you understand what I mean?"

The horrible truth was she did. She finally understood what life been like all those years for him.

"You're right though, your family is nothing like the Lannisters. I know your mother hated me, but your father was always kind enough, in his way. And you and your siblings treated me well. It wasn't your fault I was doomed to feel like an outsider in your world, looking in but never truly a part of it." Theon leaned forward.

"But then something changed. All the fear, the resentment, none of it mattered anymore. Do you know why?"

Sansa would not look at him. She shook her head.

"I fell in love with you. I fell in love with you and you wanted me too. None of it mattered to you. Not that my family name was spoken like an accusation, not that my people were pirates and thieves, and not that I couldn't be trusted because traitor's blood ran in my veins. You loved me too."

"I loved you too," Sansa echoed softly.

"But of course your father wouldn't accept me as a worthy suitor for his precious daughter. I had hoped, _prayed, _that over the years I had proved myself as my own man. But in that room, I realized that if Eddard Stark, the best of the North, could not see me as anything more than my father's son, no-one ever would. The one thing I could be certain of was that I was a Greyjoy. I should be, I'd been reminded every day since I arrived in Winterfell. But when I returned to my father's house to plead for Robb's cause, my father wouldn't accept me as his son or a true Ironborn unless I made the Starks pay the Iron Price for what they'd done to our house."

Theon sighed. He spat out his last words with a sharp mix of bitterness and regret that seemed to ring in the air long after he had finished. "I grew up with everyone around me expecting me to become a traitor, so I guess I just proved them all right."

Sansa looked at the ground for a long time. She glanced at his face occasionally as if trying to read something there.

The calm of a doomed man settled in Theon's chest. There was nothing more to say between them. He had no more secrets from her. Either she could forgive him now or she couldn't.

Sansa quietly rolled over and curled up on her mat. For a long time, Theon didn't budge. He watched over her, wishing she had said _something_. He felt miserable as he lay down in the darkness, thinking over every word he said and how he might have explained what had happened better. Then he heard a whisper, barely louder than the night wind. The voice was so thick with tears that he barely understood. But he did, and a tiny piece of hope took uncertain flight.

"I understand. I don't forgive you, but I understand."

**I'm going to (as much as I can) be keeping a regular weekly schedule with posting new chapters. Look for Chapter 9 next week, which might just have our heroes meeting up with some characters we haven't seen yet in this story. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry, I'm a little late with this chapter. I was visiting my gramma and she has no wifi. Still looking for a beta reader if anyone is willing! Thank you for reading and as always reviews=love. **

Chapter 9: In Sickness and In Health

Sunlight stretched into the late hours of the evening as they traveled south. The bruises on Sansa's pale skin faded like dark, shriveled rose petals. The scream of pain between her legs became a sick whimper. They began to travel during the day. Her body was healing but her mind was slipping away, splintering. The darkness and quiet of the night that once shielded her from strangers now held her prisoner in her own past. Memory and nightmare had the same meaning for her. His fingers on her body again. His voice in her ear.

* * *

The first time it happened he was just trying to wake her. Sansa was crying and muttering in her sleep. Theon's gaze flickered across the rim of the hollow. He had to wake her before they were found. He couldn't say for sure if they could hear her from the road, but in his ears her cries were rolling thunder. He dragged himself over to where she lay. Gently he touched her arm. Her arm whipped out wildly, grasping, clinging to his tunic. He caught her shaking body in his arms.

They sat in silence. Slowly her breathing evened out to the rhythm of his heart. Theon rubbed her back. With a half-hearted push, melting uneasily against him, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest, Sansa lay down beside Theon. He felt her body soften as she drifted off. He ran his fingers through her hair. He looked up, counting and naming each star he could see. He blinked and stretched his eyes open. If Sansa needed him, he wouldn't sleep. He knew what she had just escaped. He saw it every time he closed his eyes.

* * *

Theon's head felt heavy. Letting go of the reins, He braced his hands on his horse's neck. He trusted the old animal to follow Sansa and her mare. The snowflakes that fluttered around them blurred before his eyes into dizzying streaks of white painting the air. He shook his head. His damp hair clung to his forehead and cheeks. He closed his eyes and wiped the sweat from his brow.

Theoretically, a human being can endure just over a week without sleep. Theon Greyjoy, with fresh, infected wounds and little food, collapsed after only three days. Sansa heard a muffled thud and a sharp whinny behind her. She whipped around in her seat, catching the reins of the startled beast. Without thinking, she jumped out of her saddle.

Sansa could easily turn over his thin, starving body. She wiped the dirt and slush from his face. He groaned, his eyes bleary and half-open.

"You're burning," she murmured, feeling his forehead. Her hand lingered on his face, cradling his cheek. He looked gaunt and pale. He smelled the way vomit sounds, all puss and sweat and earth. The twisted hole where Ramsay removed his eye was oozing. Sansa's gut clenched painfully to think she hadn't noticed the shape he was in. He couldn't travel. She doubted if he could walk. For a moment the thought of leaving him here crossed her mind.

"Stay here," she said, propping him up the best she could. She slipped her dagger out of her belt and wrapped it in his palm.

"Stay safe. Scream if someone's coming. I won't go far."

She made her way down the hill towards the sound of running water. It wasn't long before she found a cave where they could sleep. If it wasn't as hidden as she would like, if they were still too close to Bolton territory, if Ramsay came in the night to drag her away, they would deal with that as it happened. It was near a river. She would need fresh water to nurse Theon.

She walked back to the clearing and found Theon with his head bowed, clutching the dagger he had stabbed into the ground to keep himself upright.

"Can you stand? I can't lift you by myself." Theon nodded. He struggled to his feet. Sansa helped him to the side of his horse. He gripped the saddle and gritted his teeth. After a few feeble attempts, together they hoisted him into the seat. Sansa took the reins and walked both horses away from the path.

* * *

Theon slept fitfully. He twitched and whimpered. Sansa held his hand and stroked his hair. Sometimes he flailed and clawed the air. He screamed. He cried out her name at times, or Ramsay's, his voice rough and dry. Sansa removed his shirt and cleaned the cuts on his chest. She cleaned and burned the wound on his face. She held his face. How different was this man from the handsome boy she knew? Grim and mutilated, but somehow still beautiful. She slept beside him. She buried her head in the crook of his neck and whispered her fears into the flesh of his shoulder.

Sansa's hands hovered over Theon's face. He clenched his jaw and pressed his teeth into the leather of the belt between them. He held his breath. She had to clean out the infected tissue, cut the remaining piece of eye off at the nerve, remove it, clean the wound, and sew it shut. She felt nauseous. She had learned these things to oversee soldiers being treated after a battle. She had not learned this to perform surgery by herself. A vast, dark ocean stretched out around her and she was completely alone. Theon gripped her leg. She began.

Eventually, he passed out as she finished sewing his eye forever shut. Sansa winced at the new bruises on her thigh when she stood up.

She lay next to him, tracing patterns in the tunic that covered his new bandages. She could feel the beating of his heart. She had saved him. She had saved herself. She felt safe. She felt more like herself than she had since they left Winterfell. They left and traveled South and although she never spoke the words aloud, she was guiding them back to the Vale. The Vale, where Littlefinger had held her and whispered promises of protection. He touched her and kissed her and sold her to a monster. He would sell her again. He would sell Theon to whoever offered the highest price, in gold or promises. If the Ironborn would not take him, there were loyal North men who would pay to see him hang. But loyalty to the North meant loyalty to Sansa Stark and she would not let him be hurt again. She smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She would protect him, no matter what happened, she would protect him.

"How can I still love you?" She whispered.

* * *

It took a few days after Theon woke for him to regain his strength. He taught Sansa traps to catch them food. The afternoon was unusually warm when she helped him walk down to the river to watch her fish. She stood up to her knees in the river, holding a makeshift spear. The freezing water swirled about her ankles.

"I got it!" She cried out. She lunged forward suddenly, losing her balance. A shout and a splash later, she was sitting in the mud, drenched head to foot.

Theon scrambled to his feet. But her smile stopped him. She proudly held up her spear. On the end was a creature so small, it didn't deserve to be called a fish. Theon howled with laughter.

"Excellent! We'll feast like kings!"

They returned to the cave, Sansa only supporting Theon with one arm. He could almost walk by himself and she didn't want to soak him.

Theon made a fire. Sansa stripped to her undergarments and laid the wet clothing out to dry. She shivered and wrapped herself in her traveling cloak. Theon glanced at her and opened his arm up so that she could sit by him if she wanted. It seemed as if she felt guilty for the way she took care of him. She kept her distance from him since he woke. But now, she quietly curled against him for warmth.

A strangled bleat cut through the air. They heard flesh and bone splitting open. As one, they jumped to their feet. She grabbed the spear. He pulled a branch from the pile of firewood. With their pathetic weapons, they crept towards the noise.

Four men stood near their horses. The old stallion had been stabbed in the chest. His body was slumped against the tree, blood spilling out over the leaves. The mare's front leg had been cut off. She screamed and thrashed on the ground.

"Put the beast out of its misery and let's go find the Stark bitch," the one with a grizzled beard barked.

Theon pushed Sansa, sending her back a few steps. He shook his head. They couldn't fight these men. They couldn't flee on foot.

"Run," he hissed. Sansa turned on her heels and sprinted towards the river.

"What are you looking for, you cunts?" Sansa hadn't heard him shout like that in years: loud, brash, and arrogant. She froze. Theon wasn't following her. He was on the ridge, drawn up to his full height, his arms outstretched. He was doing what he promised: giving his life for her.

_Keep running, stupid girl. It's a waste for you both to die. _But she couldn't move her body. When you are about to die your life flashes before your eyes. When you are about to watch someone die, you see the life you shared. She was overwhelmed by a waterfall of memories, dark and warm and beautiful. Even in the most terrible moments, she felt a fierce spark of love for her Ironborn prince.

Sansa lifted the small spear she was carrying. She ran towards Theon and the man who had him pinned against a tree, a dagger pressed to his neck. Sansa screamed. She tensed her body to send the spear through this man's throat.

But her small cry was drowned by the clamor of hooves and the clash of metal on metal. The man threw Theon to the ground.

Below them, a voice yelled, "What the hell? It's a fucking wom-"

**We'll leave Sansa and Theon here for now. Next week we check up on everyone's favorite creepy uncle, Petyr Baelish. **


End file.
